After 45 awesome minutes of basketballs being launched at my head and
kids swearing at me I decided to call it a night. I told the kids that if they didn't want to
listen then we wouldn't have sports club that night. After five minutes of trying to get all of
the balls back into storage I locked myself in the gym for a much needed
workout. I put my music on and ran
tedious circles around and around.
When I heard there were still kids outside after 20 minutes
I started to get suspicious. It was
already dark outside and they don't usually hang around. I unlocked the door and tried to open
it….unsuccessfully. The wonderful
children had decided to stack tires up in front of the door so I couldn't get
out. I had to call my host mom to help
me out but by the time she got there they had moved the tires and ran home,
leaving me feeling like an idiot for having called my host mom in the first
place.
Normally I would laugh at such a story. In fact, I might play that kind of joke on my
friends. I suppose the difference is
that in my mind it is a joke, but these kids are just mean. "The director will call their parents
tomorrow." A normally reassuring comment except that I know it is an empty
threat. I've been told that these two
brothers' parents like their vodka a little too much.
This is the latest in a string of unhappy moments. I've actually written quite a few stories but
they are too depressing to post. It all
started two weeks ago when my counterpart called me to school. Finally!
We would talk about my schedule, I hoped. She was very excited when I got there, like
she had a wonderful piece of news to tell me.
"You will teach my six English classes for me tomorrow!" Uhhhh, no I won't. First, it's a little late notice. Second, I am not going to set precedence as a
substitute teacher. Third, and I know
this is petty, but why should I help her if she has gone out of her way not to
help me?
Two days later my host mom informed me that all of the other
teachers disliked me because I wasn't doing anything. What was my counterpart, the one who I was
asking everyday for help, replying when the other teachers asked her why I
wasn't teaching? That she didn't know why I wasn't teaching. "But Ena, don't they understand that it is
impossible for me to make a schedule without help?" No.
Great.
The following day Ena decided to help me and by the end of
the day I had a schedule, albeit all English teaching. I went straight to the director the following
morning and with a few tweaks, I had a schedule. I started teaching that day – seven or eight calm
younger children, I was told. I had over
20 screaming children grades 2 – 4. The
fourth graders already knew their letters and were bored. The teachers, I imagine laughing in their
dislike of me, sent all of their worst students to me. There were three in particular who instead of
wanting to learn English wanted to hone their fighting skills.
I left school in tears and called one of my favorite people
on the way home, who tried to talk sense to me.
By the time I got home I was sobbing.
Ena hugged me and told me that everything would be fine. Teaching is always hard the first time. I know this.
But what I can't possibly explain in Russian is the fear of hating this. What if I continue hating teaching? That's
two years of misery – and by no means do I want to go home. It's not even an option.
Since then word has got around that I am teaching English
and every parent in the village is approaching me to teach their children - the
school cook, the post office lady, people I don't know. All believe that my miraculous teaching
skills will make their children fluent in a school year. Too bad their children don't want the English
lessons. The easy answer is to just say
no. But when everyone dislikes you and
thinks that you were doing nothing it becomes a little more complicated.
When the children locked me in the school it was the last
straw. I have tried, and tried and tried
to make this work but with no help it is impossible. That's just it. Besides Ena, people just want me to teach
English and expect me to spontaneously pick up cursive Ukrainian and plan
myself.....
And that is depressing as I'll let it get. I know – it is pretty bad. You should read the stories I decided not to
post. As I write this it is two days
later than the above story. I had been
unhappy for awhile and it just built up and built up until….well, I won't get
into that. But today was good. Really good.
I taught two English clubs and enjoyed myself. Not only that, but sports went really well
too.
I also came up with an action plan for my community. I had a friend once tell me that there is
nothing like living overseas to get to know oneself. I completely understand where she is coming from. Rather than letting my pride get in the way I
recognize that not only my site needs to amend certain things, but I also could
do things differently here, try harder and go around what is not working.
On Saturday I hit a wall (metaphorically!) and thought I
could go no further. Call it culture
shock, call it bottling up frustration, call it what you will. But still somehow, and don't ask me how this
works, I wake up each morning with a feeling of optimism. The events that take place each day can either
leave that seed infertile or make it grow – even blossom. Today I feel like it blossomed and I have
hope. I feel like this mood is going to
last. I feel happy.
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